Backstage Heroine
by Two four twelve
Summary: A challenge fic. Pomfrey wasn't always so old and maternal, after all.


A throng of Hufflepuffs sat around the front steps of Hogwarts, soaking up the last dying rays of sunlight and listening to the early crickets. The unseasonably cool wind slowly but steadily grew colder; the students huddled together for warmth. Ordinarily they would have been in their common room already, but they had completed their last OWL exam that afternoon, and were in too high spirits for the cold or the impending curfew to stop them. The subject had been History of Magic. Professor Binns held it on the last day of the exam period, come hell or high water, and had done so for longer than living memory. Of even the ghosts, few could remember the exam ever having been on any other day.

At length, the middle-aged Professor McGonagall came out and found the students. She gave the prefects and de facto leaders of the group, Davey and Lorena, stern but not unkind looks. They giggled and relented, and followed her back inside. McGonagall shut and locked the front doors; after all, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore, You-Know-Who was still out there. The sun sank beneath the horizon, the air grew still colder, and the crickets sang ever louder. Owls swooped from their tower and homed in on the insects.

The front door unlocked.

A thin boy with light brown hair and ragged robes peeked around, saw no-one, and stepped out. A young woman followed, shutting the door behind them. Without speaking, they headed out into the grounds, out past the greenhouses, toward the Whomping Willow.

Precisely why the psychotic tree had been planted, on a school of all places, had never been well-explained to many people. These two were among the exceptions.

She pulled a baton from her robes and tapped it with her wand. It lengthened until it was twenty feet long. She clumsily angled one end toward the tree; its branches quivered in indignation, but she was well out of its range.

"A bit to the left," said the boy. He stepped forward, six feet ahead of her to get more torque, and pointed the pole at a specific knot of the tree's roots. They pushed, and the branches froze. "Thanks. You know, Madame … why don't you let me find my way back to my dorm tonight?"

"Because you're always scratched up in the morning after," she said. "Enough so that you shouldn't be moving. Furthermore, you're liable to leave your wounds untreated, and I'll have to disinfect them afterwards."

"Of course," he said hastily, "but I'm sixteen now. The last few times, I've been strong enough that I could have made my own way to your office. It would be much less trouble for you than to get up before dawn and come out here."

She set her mouth in a line.

"And what if someone else had an emergency then?" he asked. "Or what if your fatigue made you make a mistake later? If I'm not back by dawn, then I'd accept you could come and take me back, but I really do believe I could make it by myself."

She worried her lip.

"Come on," he said. "We've been doing this for five years now. I know you don't want to leave me if I might be hurt, so you know I wouldn't ask if I weren't confident in myself. Please, Madame. I want to know I can do this. After all, you won't be there after I graduate."

"Well," she said at length. "Okay. But make sure you get _straight over_ to my office the moment you transform back, understand?"

"Of course," he said with a smile, and he loped toward the tree, found the secret passage, and popped out of view.

Poppy sighed and tapped her wand to the twenty-foot pole, then stored both back in her robes. What a poor boy. She set off back to the castle.

The temperature had fallen even further; she pulled her robes tighter about her slim frame. Healer training was absurdly competitive after graduation, despite not being especially meritocratic. There were only so many positions available. A few went to the very best students, those with three or more Outstandings, but most went to those with gold or connections. Poppy was above average but not enough so, and instead found an apprenticeship to the ageing Sir Cadmeus as a school nurse. It was lonely, poorly-paid and largely overlooked. Still, at least she was helping sick people like she wanted, and that was what really mattered. She wasn't in it for the money and prestige like so many others.

Her musings brought her up short as she reached the Hogwarts gates. She wasn't alone.

"That took you longer than usual," said the dark-eyed boy before her.

"Sirius Black," she said. "You're not supposed to be here. It's after curfew, for one thing."

"Oh, come off it," he said. "As if I've ever let that stop me."

"As if you ever _have_," she admitted. She entered the castle and shut the door behind him when he followed her. "Despite me taking a total of at least fifty points off for it from you and your friends over the years. Where are they, by the way?"

"About," Sirius said lazily. "Why are you so bothered?"

"I'm always upset after taking Remus to the Willow," she said. "That anyone should have to deal with the things he does…"

Sirius, who was quite tall for his age, put his arm around her. She knew quite well how many of the boys fancied her; that he was one of them; that she would be well-advised never to act upon it if she enjoyed her job; and, most importantly of all, how much less troublesome they could be when they thought acting pleasant might give them a chance with her. Several of her school friends had found jobs as salespeople in Hogsmeade and assured her they had the exact same experiences. Still, decorum was vital; she wriggled out of his arm.

"He'll be alright," Sirius said, disappointed. "He's got me, Prongs and Wormtail."

"Clearly in safe hands," Poppy agreed. "How on earth did you four come up with those nicknames, anyway?"

"Oh, it's a long story," Sirius said airily.

There came a thump from above, followed by the sound of happy laughter. She should really send him back to it. In that case, she would spend the night hearing the distant celebrations, while she would read a book. Sir Cadmeus was a great healer, but a rubbish conversationalist.

"If you're going to be out all night anyway, you might as well come to my office and tell me," she said. "I'll make some tea."

"Why, whatever would make you think I wouldn't go straight to my dorm?" Sirius asked.

Poppy just gave him a look.

.. ... ...

She had something a little stronger than tea in her office, aside from her supply of painkillers. Like most pureblood families, the Blacks largely ignored age laws; Sirius could hold his drink better than she could, but also instinctively knew how to coax her into having more than she ought. She'd be reprimanded for it, if anyone caught her … but realistically, given the end-of-OWL parties currently shaking all four Houses, nobody would be checking the junior mediwitch's office for anything other than emetics. Even then, Sir Cadmeus, now on the cusp of retirement, was the first stop for any real emergency.

"So then," Sirius finished, in uproarious spirits, "Wormtail says, 'Oh, James, I see you've met my girlfriend'! Needless to say, they both had nightmares for the rest of the week."

Poppy giggled like she hadn't since she'd been a schoolgirl.

"But that's enough about me," Sirius said. He should have been incoherent by now, but his eyes were sharp as ever. "What about you?"

"Mm?" Poppy said. She drained her cup and set it down on the table between them. "What about me?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, gesturing expansively.

"At Hogwarts?" she asked. "You reckon I should be in Saint Mungo's, studying cures for dragon pox or spattergroit? I was never good enough to get in."

She was dimly cognisant that she'd had far too much: normally she would never use the word 'reckon' with a student. It did feel kind of fun, though. She would normally remind him where her eyes were, too, or at least keep her outer robes on, but it was feeling rather warm inside.

"What, seriously?" he asked, his favourite word. "But you've always been able to heal anything that goes wrong 'round here in, like, that." He snapped his fingers.

"I guess," Poppy said. "But to get into the real Healers, you need to be a specialist, you know? And I only got two Outstandings, and I didn't get a full-fee place. Those things're expensive."

"Feh," Sirius said, contemptuous of the aristocratic system. "But I meant, why're you here, now, with me? I mean, you're beautiful, I bet any of your classmates would've loved to marry you, and here you are, talking to a guy like me. There's no-one within five years of your age in the castle; doesn't it bother you, leaving your friends from your own year behind?"

She poured herself another cup, seasoned it, and took a sip. After thirty seconds, she could delay no longer. "I used to be a Gryffindor too," she said. "It's kind of silly, in retrospect. Houses, I mean. Why should brave people try to make friends with other brave people, more than smart ones? I mean, you only really need one. But I still thought it was really important, at the time."

"It still is," Sirius said.

She raised a hand to cut him off, because he looked like he was going to go on a long, tangential rant. "I thought it at the time, sure, and I took it as meaning that I had to be the good guy, the heroine. I had to be the one to help people, that's sort of why I tried to become a Healer. But that meant I also couldn't just be some trophy wife, I had to do it myself.

"So I'm here, taking care of people. I think I got the last laugh. I'm the one who's keeping people safe. And it's not so bad, anyway. I still have friends. We just don't see each other much during term."

"I'd hate to go so long without seeing any of mine," said Sirius, thinking of James and Peter, who had smuggled Firewhiskey into Gryffindor for the post-OWLs party, and Remus, who as prefect should theoretically be stopping them but who was waiting for the transformation when he'd get to run around the castle with his friends.

"Then maybe you shouldn't," said Poppy. "You've stayed out long enough. Go on, get back to your common rooms. You don't want to miss the party."

After he was shooed out, casting one last wistful look at her, she sat back. The alcohol coursed through her body, making her sleepy, pliant, and agreeable. At length, she went to her bureau and took out a piece of parchment.

_Dear Emily,_

_How have you been? What have you been up to all this time? It's been so long. I'm nearing the end of my apprenticeship; I expect to take over as full school healer at the end of this year._

_Term formally ends in a few days. I was thinking to arrange a get-together with some of our old friends…_


End file.
